An Experiment in Empathy - 5 SBD to the Winner(s)
A man walks into a bra- he must have been dyslexic
Okay, this isn't actually supposed to be funny in any way at all, so let me start this again.
A man walks into a bar. In his right hand is a shard of glass, dripping with blood.
With no decipherable expression on his face, the man walks over to a table in the corner, where another man is having a drink alone.
The lonesome man at the table turns towards the man with the glass shard in his hand and asks, "Is everything alright, mate?"
Without so much as a moment's hesitation, the first man lifts his hand and buries the piece of glass into the other's carotid artery. The murderer then sits down at the table where his victim once sat, and finishes his drink while he waits for the police to arrive and take him away. Everyone in the room whispers among themselves as they stare at the bloody corpse on the floor, and the seemingly psychotic man responsible for it, sitting there sipping a beer.
Why did he do it?
Your task is to think about this incident, and what could have led to it. Whomever can provide the best explanation as to why this man murdered the other, and can force the rest of us to empathize with his position, and wonder if we would have done the same- that person will win the 5SBD.
I am judging this personally, because there is too much voting abuse on this platform. If I can't pick between two I may choose to give 2.50 to two people. I will also be making an entry to this myself when I return, but obviously, I will not be eligible for any prizes.
You can make a post about this if you want a chance to earn something for your time regardless of whether you win, but be sure to copy and paste your explanation into the comments section here, otherwise I won't see it and you won't have a chance to win.
EDIT: I have decided to allow @dreemit to pick a second winner who will also receive $2SBD. Also, I forgot to mention that this contest will end in 72 hours(3 days) from the time this post was published.
The man who walks into the bar with the shard of glass has a gambling problem. He was in his home, when two men bust in the front door and begin to assault him.
Upstairs, his only son hears the racket and runs down to assist him. He gets the best of the smaller man then turns to get the bigger man off of his dad. The struggle ends up with the man falling on top of the son through the glass table. Thinking quickly, the son takes a shard of glass and jams it in the man's neck. He rolls the man's body off of him, breathing heavily he says "Dad, I'm going to jail."
Not willing to spend the rest of his life away from the only family he has left in the world, he takes the shard of glass from the man's neck, calmly makes his way to the neighborhood bar and stabs the man to which all his gambling debt is owed.
This was fucking great. I feel that I might struggle not to do the same thing in his situation. A truly brilliant entry.
Wow, thank you!
I haven't read any of the other comments, to not be influenced, so I don't know how others have done this. But I've done it as a short story.
Nigel woke to another sunny day. He stretched and yawned, and for a moment, one blessed moment, he was happy. But then he remembered and the pain came crashing down again.
It was six months since his wife and daughter had been killed by the drunk driver and the pain hadn’t lessened at all.
Some days he was numb. Some days he felt the depths of despair. Some days the anger was overwhelming. But most days it was searing pain and crippling grief.
He was still unable to comprehend why the driver only got community service and six months loss of licence, while Nigel had lost his whole reason for living.
He’d stopped going into work, and didn’t care when he was sacked. His savings would run out soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that either.
He wasn’t sure when he had started stalking Chester. It must be a few weeks ago, as he knew Chester’s routine by heart.
He now frequently dropped into Chester’s favourite bar. Often enough that they now acknowledged each other with the kind of nod you give someone you see around but don’t actually know.
Nigel didn’t know why he did this, but remembered the old adage – keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
That night, as Nigel approached the bar – on foot, he didn’t drive any more – he saw a car he recognised, Chester’s. He must have his licence back.
Nigel’s already fragile state of mind shattered. He looked wildly around, and saw an empty bottle in the gutter. He grabbed it and smashed it against Chester’s windscreen in a fury. When the bottle broke in his hand, he looked down at the shard of glass he was now holding, and the blood on his hand, and finally knew what he had to do. He must stop Chester from killing again.
Ignoring the pain in his hand, he resolutely turned towards the bar.
EDIT - posted here https://steemit.com/fiction/@kiwideb/flash-fiction-son-of-satire-s-empathy-competition, and this post resteemed.
I keep trying to decide what to say, haha. I'll head over to your post now :)
I'll write two possible scenarios:
First one: The troubled man was in a hunt for all the people that haunted and assaulted his family. He had an emotionless face expression because at the same time his dark soul had all the possible emotions: he just found the head of the organization that murdered his wife and raped their children in an operation to "wipe off" all the people in a village that was rich in oil.
The shard of glass that was used was the same one that it was used to kill his wife. He found her wife in agony when he came back home from a revolt in the village, she had that piece of glass buried in her heart. Her last words before passing away were: "I want you to know that I love you, and maybe my heart is dying, but i hope you remember me and carry a piece of my heart with you". He took out the glass off her chest, as an interpretation of his wife's words, buried his wife and children, and he made a plan to avenge the deaths. All this man's killings were made with this same "weapon".
Fast forward. After killing the man, the troubled man just felt he achieved his vengeance, he did not care what would happen next. So he just waited for the police with a sense of closure, drinking the beer.
Second One: This man was a twisted version of Sheldon Cooper (The Big Bang Theory) and he said in his mind: "He's in my spot".
Haha. I like it.
Fred was positively happy that day, driving down the road as a light snow turned everything white and pure. He gazed over at his cute wife with her rosey cheeks and round belly. The child that would be a miracle was only a few months away.
Just then, out of no where, a dark rust colored sedan dove out of the alley, across the street and into the parking lot where it slid and came to a stop only because of the wheel blocks in the lot.
Mary let out a shriek. Fred returned his gaze forward. His car drifting in a spin from the sudden breaking... the wheels wouldn't respond to the steering wheel. The electric pole was coming closer.
Crash. As the sound of the plymoth came to an abrupt stop.
He wasn't going that fast, so he was only shooken up.
He looked to his right, and found that Mary looking pale white.
He looked down to see the piece of glass protruding through her carotid artery. He tried everything he could to staunch the flow of blood, but that only made it very apparent when her heart beat its last beat.
Fred picked up the piece of glass and walked into the bar, where he noticed the driver of the rust colored car had walked into.
The heat seemed to increase in intensity,the ball in his throat seemed to increase in size by seconds and he couldn't wail aloud as he wanted to but the tears kept spilling over soaking up the blouse of Ary's lifeless form. All he could hear himself muttering amidst the tears was "why?"
"Ary,don't leave me please". Despite his words,deep down he knew she was gone.
He continued sobbing as the loss,emptiness pain sank in.
As some minutes, Jason staggered up to his feet, out of the room down the stairs and out of the house. He staggered across the the street,passersby cast glances in his direction but he just stared on ahead . He walked into the alley by his right,still staring on ahead. A ray of the dying sun seeped into the alley falling on something that reflected on his face drawing him out his trance-like walk. He looked down,he saw shard of glass and he bent to pick it up. He squeezed it tightly causing the jagged edges of the glass to cut into his hands,then he muttered "Ary".
Jason stopped in front of the bar,squeezed the glass in his hand some more causing more blood to seep out,he mutters "Ary"
He walks into the bar,his hands dripping with blood.
With no decipherable expression on his face, Jason walks over to a table in the corner, where Marcus sat drinking alone.
The lonesome man at the table turns towards Jason with the glass shard in his hand and asks, "Is everything alright, mate?"
Without so much as a moment's hesitation, the Jason lifts his hand and buries the piece of glass into the other's carotid artery. He then sits down at the table where his victim once sat, and finishes his drink while he waits for the police to arrive and take him away. Everyone in the room whispers among themselves as they stare at the bloody corpse on the floor, and the seemingly psychotic Jason sitting there sipping a beer.
" They will understand,won't they?" He said under his breathe. "I tried to complete my debt but he won't be patient,i asked him to give me time."
"Now, he has taken my Ary" he sobbed. "he killed my Ary!"
How did Ary end up in here? Hahaha, dude, I can't even!! (Is Jason Grayson's twin? LOL)
Lol....what do you think?
Doctor Weinstein walked into the bar. In his right hand was a shard of glass, dripping with blood. For want of any other weapon he had broken the car’s window with his fist and torn out a piece to use as his murder weapon. The terrorists’ tracker he had stolen was blinking furiously in his other hand. He recognized the man. He could see the victim sitting alone in a corner. Save his drink on the table, he was oblivious to whatever was going around or within him.
The doctor knew he had to act fast. Time was running out. The police would be here soon. He had called them as soon as he had located the last carrier. Yet another victim he had to kill. He recalled the Hippocratic Oath he was sworn to several years ago. The irony of it all struck a nerve but he tried to keep a straight face. There was no time to reflect just yet. He had to do what must be done first. He was sure that the terrorists were actively hunting him down. They may find him soon. This was his only chance to thwart their plans.
Oliver Weinstein had been kidnapped by a group of terrorists three nights ago, on his way back from the virology centre. They had taken him to their secret location where he was made to inject one of the deadliest biological weapon mankind had ever known, into seven heavily sedated victims. The VF-118, a viral strain that he had researched for over ten years, was the most lethal virus yet seen. Even the Ebola virus that recently ravaged some parts of West Africa paled in comparison with this virus. It had an incubation period of barely forty eight hours after which a carrier begins to manifest bizarre symptoms and at that point the virus was easily transmitted to whoever comes in contact. It had no cure.
They had kept them all in a confined area, awaiting an order from above to give them the various locations the carriers were to be shipped out to all across the country. It was over thirty hours from the time of inoculation before the order finally came in. The doctor was counting down. The first victim was to be released into a nearby town. The others would be transported alongside the doctor to a local airstrip where further instructions awaited them. They were being transported in a van with two armed men as escorts. They allowed the doctor ride shotgun while the armed men stayed at the back with the other six carriers. That was their mistake. Perhaps, they were thinking an aging doctor could cause them little or no trouble and so far, he hadn’t. They were terribly wrong. What no one told them was that the doctor was a civil war veteran.
It happened so quickly that even the doctor could hardly recall every incident. He had succeeded in causing an accident and had narrowly escaped himself before setting the van on fire with all the other passengers still in it. Hijacking a car from a dumbstruck driver that had stopped out of concern, he fled the scene with the only thing he was lucky to have grabbed quickly from the van. It was a tracker of some sort, which tracked the movement of all seven carriers. He knew what he had to do.
A few minutes after he heard the explosion from the van, already some distance off, six of the seven blinking lights went dead. Only one remained at the far edge of the tracker’s monitor. There was hope, the doctor thought.
John sat alone at a corner table in the bar sipping on a glass of cold beer. Thank God he found some change in his pockets. He was alone and scared although he tried not to show it. He didn’t know where he was or what had happened in the past four or more days. He had this strange feeling inside him. It was as if he was just waking up from a long coma. The last thing he remembered was some hooded men pouncing on him in a dark alley one night, on his way back from his favorite bar. He had been knocked out before he even had the chance to put up a fight. He now knew they had abducted him but what made him more confused was that he didn’t remember any other event until he suddenly found himself free in an unknown area. There was this uneasiness he felt.
It didn’t take him long to find the bar for which he was grateful for. His brain was foggy and he reckoned a drink or two would help clear his head after which he could figure out a way to get home.
John was on his second glass when the doctor walked in. In his right hand was a shard of glass, dripping with blood.
With no decipherable expression on his face, the doctor walks over to his table in the corner.
John is taken aback and suddenly begins to panic.
"Is everything alright, mate?" he blurts out.
Without so much as a moment's hesitation, the doctor lifts his hand and buries the piece of glass into John's carotid artery with surgical precision. It was over. The last carrier was dead.
There is this cold silence that falls over the bar. You could hear the blood gushing out of John’s fast becoming lifeless form.
The room is still in shock as the murderer sits down at the table where his victim once sat, and finishes his drink while he waits for the police to arrive and take him away.
As abruptly as the silence starts, it ends. A shriek or two is heard from the women in the bar as the crowd moves farther away from the scene. Soon everyone in the room begins to whisper among themselves as they stare at the bloody corpse on the floor, and the seemingly psychotic man responsible for it, sitting there calmly and sipping a beer.
This was excellently written, I love the different take you have on it. As far as the contest rules, such as making us empathize with the man, the only issue here would be the immediate thought I have about whether there could have been another way to handle it.
However, I am definitely checking out your page soon ;)
Thanks. Maybe there would've been a different way to handle the situation. Maybe not. Isn't that what life is all about ? Lol.... Limitless possibilities and different responses.
Thanks once again. Your comment is encouraging.
Since morality is not a relative thing, I'll make no attempt to just-ify the violence so calmly executed in the example. The problem with attempting to create empathy for someone in connection with an act of violence can leap out when the word 'violence' is defined. It is a violation of the rights of another being, or violates the free will of another, and is not a right that anyone possesses, morals or not. The murderer might have had the right to use force if it were a matter of self-defense, but obviously the victim of the murder was placed in a passive position in a chair, apparently minding his own business, and not currently violating anyone.
From a moral standpoint, no individual has the right to violate another, and here the word 'right' comes into play, contrasted dramatically against what must be considered 'wrong'. Of course modern society has been cultured and conditioned to 'justify' (attempt to make just something that is unjust) violence when it is a matter of revenge, and the Hollywood version of revenge is made to look so satisfying and delicious that we see it as right and honorable to kill under certain circumstances, to make a wrong feel right, even if it's wrong. Such cultural conditioning works hand in hand with the military propaganda that is piped into the world daily.
This of course is not a valid entry into the contest, as I've made no attempt to force even the slightest empathy from anyone towards the character in the example. From a personal point of view, I know that I have the right to defend myself and my family using vicious force if needed, while knowing that I never have the right to violently take away the free will of another. I'm neither passive nor aggressive, and try not to be passive-aggressive, but I am a warrior and a defender, so if that had been me sitting at that table, the story would have ended differently!
This is a very valid point, and you have actually made me question whether to continue this. I too believe everything to be black and white, and I see now why this could be perceived as me trying to portray it as grey.
I will say though that I can't agree with the concept of right. I embracing the belief that someone else can determine what you are allowed to do is a deterrent to self-reflection. People get lazy and don't feel the need to look inside to discover what is right and wrong when they believe someone else should decide for them.
I think if we ever want to get to that world we both envision, where there is no confusion over what is right and what is not, we will first have to realise that the truth of morality is written within the human experience, and can only be realised through thought and reflection. That means we have to stop letting others dictate what is right.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do with this now that you have made see it through it a different perspective, but I think you should trust that if I do continue it, it is for a good reason. I haven't spent so many hours on this just to make a dollar, or spend a few of them I should say. If I proceed, by round three I suspect you will see what I am trying to accomplish.
Thanks again for the wisdom though, Paul. It is always welcome.
I'm not trying to ruin the contest! I spent some time trying to imagine a scenario that would invoke empathy, but every one required a jury that could make grey areas in morality, and I decided to write about that instead.
When I refer to a 'right' I usually am thinking of the natural tendencies of people to possess an innate knowledge of what is right and wrong, and not so much a behavior that is learned through coercion from some authority-- I think that at least 95 percent of humanity is born with empathy as a default setting.
I look forward to seeing how this progresses, thanks for offering this chance to write about such important topics as this.
Permit me to butt in here. I don't think an argument for or against morality should arise from this post/contest. I'm a simple guy trying to be a good creative writer whose works would one day be read far and wide. So I see this for what I think it really is: a writing exercise meant to sharpen the minds of would be writers and help us improve on our skills. Some probably think the same way too.
In writing, the question of right or wrong shouldn't decide what you write or don't write. If it were so, then I think humanity would have missed out on so many great works of literature by now.
I hope my argument was in line. Thanks.
PS: I belief there are so many other scenarios that could be painted with this thread and not necessarily one of revenge as you seem to have stereotyped already.
If you can, check out my own version below.
The topic of morality, and even a discussion of the concept of right and wrong might well be encouraged here by the story that is presented. Instead of intentionally creating argument, I reviewed the contest, considered the idea of morality which led to right and wrong, and decided to write about it here without any prescribed constraints. Was if wrong for me to do so? As you said, "In writing, the question of right or wrong shouldn't decide what you write or don't write." I agree.
No, you weren't wrong. It's actually good we have this intellectual discourse once in awhile. I think we all could learn from each other. Thanks.
You see the man with the shard of glass was a father to a lovely 15 year old girl, top of her group in the classroom and on the sport field.
Two days before her 16th birthday Jenny never made it home, her father Bruce (man with the shard of glass) soon grew tired of the local police and their reluctant efforts to help locate his daughter, and took matters into his own hands.
Weeks went by, but Bruce tirelessly carried on searching.
Eventually he found his daughter in a crack house where she was being forced to work as a prostitute. Unfortunately, his despondent daughter had just injected herself with a lethal dose of heroin - because she just could not take it anymore. She collapsed just before she could reach her fathers arms for the very last time, breaking a divider window with her fall.
Her father rushed to her side and cradled her in his arms for some time, before picking up a shard of glass lying next to her.
Knowing who the kingpin was he traced him to the local bar where he would normally hang out that time of day....
Hey breezy! How are you doing sweetie?
Yup, the temporary insanity of a parent losing a child is definitely something people can empathize with ;)
Hey you awesome Lady!!!
I have been great and healthy...
And then sick while trying to stay buoyant in a pile of crap...
And now things are fabulous ~ even more so after hearing from you!
How is life on your side?
Well something like that would definitely push me over the edge! I wouldn't even mind going to prison for it, even if I have to be a bitch called Buba's little spoon....
After years of stress from his job family relatives pressure all around him he couldnt take it. He killed eveyone in his family because of an argument before he killed his son his son struck his hand with a glass bottle and a shard stayed. He was so depressed he casually stabed the man at the bar and prepare for his end. The man didnt even know about the shard because he was contemplating on his life he could have stabed himself but he let the police arrest him and send him to jury which he would prove guilty and sent to execution